


Two Little Words

by onceahuskyalwaysahusky



Category: Glee
Genre: Blangst, Dance With Somebody fic, Gen, Not Kurt Friendly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceahuskyalwaysahusky/pseuds/onceahuskyalwaysahusky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After making the biggest mistake of his life, Blaine Anderson sits on a stranger's bed, listening to the hiss of a shower. Tortured by his thoughts, he reflects on that time the previous year when he accused the love of his life of being unfaithful. Klaine during "Dance With Somebody" as viewed from "The Break Up". Team Blaine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Does It Hurt So Bad?

_Sitting on a rumpled bed in an unfamiliar room, Blaine Anderson felt numb._

_Empty._

_Dirty._

_The door to the adjacent bathroom was ajar; Blaine could hear the hiss of the shower spray. The sound cut through him more than any shrieking siren possibly could._

_The voice of his former Dalton roommate echoed in his head. "Dude, it's definitely a hook-up if you have to take a shower after," he remembered Jeff wisecracking once for some forgotten reason._

_A hook-up._

_He couldn't believe what had just happened...how he'd_ let _it happen. Thinking about it made his skin crawl. He wanted to run from that room and drive home, fling himself into the shower and scrub himself until he felt clean again. The smell of sex was in the air; Blaine felt like throwing up each time he took a breath._

 _He picked up his phone. When he touched the screen, it lit._ Oh, God. _The Facebook mobile site was still there._ _The sight of those fatal messages did his stomach no favors._

Eli.C: Hey there, sexy.

Eli.C: Want to come over?

_The hissing sound of the shower stopped. Blaine heard faint sounds of movement as Eli toweled himself off._

_Blaine didn't even want to lay eyes on the other boy. Not for one second. He logged out of Facebook, hoping that banishing the evidence would make him feel even a fraction better._

_Wrong. When his wallpaper picture came up, he felt like he'd been slapped across the face._

_He and Kurt. Holding each other._

_Smiling._

_Happy._

_Then it hit him._ Kurt. Oh my God, oh my God ohmyGod. _.._

_Clutching the iPhone in his hand, Blaine felt like he'd just been kicked in the stomach..._

 

* * *

 

 _Chandler_ _(April 25): Are you an astronaut? Cause you're out of this world._

Clutching the iPhone in his hand, Blaine felt like he'd just been kicked in the stomach.

 _Chandler_ _(April 25): I'm pretty sure you were Cleopatra in another life. You've got a great asp!_

There were dozens of text messages. Literally dozens.

_Chandler (April 25): You're like a song. I can't get you out of my head.  
_

_Chandler_ _(10:23am): If you were Jack and I was Rose, I'd never have let go._

 _Chandler_ _(12:18pm): If I had a star for every time you brightened my day, I'd have a galaxy in my hand._

Funny, flirty quips and cheesy pick-up lines.

 _Chandler_ _(2:17pm): Your eyes are blue like the ocean. And, baby, I'm lost at sea._

Blaine didn't find them funny.

 _Chandler_ _(3:33pm): I know your father's a mechanic. You've got a finely tuned body._

He'd only found them by accident. In Kurt's cell _—_ in his _boyfriend's_ cell. Obviously from someone named Chandler.

 _Chandler_ _(5:37pm): If I could rearrange the alphabet, I would put "u" and "i" together._

Blaine didn't know anyone named Chandler.

_Bzzzzzz._

_Chandler_ _(7:40pm): Sing into my voice mail. I want you to be my ringtone._

Obviously Kurt did.

_Bzzzzzz._

And they _kept coming_ , one right after the other. Faster. More insistent.

 _Chandler_ _(7:43pm): When we get to New York, let's go to the front of the Plaza and reenact the ending of The Way We Were._

Blaine flinched. _New York...always New York..._

Kurt was down in the kitchen. Blaine had picked up the phone because of the insistent _—_ almost constant _—_ vibrating...afraid that it might've been one of their friends...or maybe Burt or Carole, calling from DC...someone desperately trying to get in touch with Kurt. He was trying to be a good boyfriend.

Reading these messages (and, _oh God_ , the replies), he couldn't say the same about Kurt right then.

_Bzzzzzzz._

Each buzz heralding a new message sliced into Blaine's heart like a razor-sharp blade.

 _Chandler_ _(7:46pm): This time next year let's be laughing together._

This was obviously what Kurt had been giggling over during Glee today...and why he'd sat apart from Blaine, rather than in the seat right next to him. He remembered Sam looking over Kurt's shoulder at one point, grinning at something he was reading on Kurt's cell.

And how, after looking over at Blaine, the grin had slid off Sam's face.

He watched as Kurt trotted into the room, smiling and prattling on about stupid cheese plates and _Being Bobby Brown_ marathons.

Wanting and not wanting to know, Blaine held up the offending phone and asked, "Who's Chandler?" trying and failing to keep a pathetic whine out of his voice.

Blaine got his answer when Kurt stiffened up and, in a clipped tone, asked, "Why are you going through my phone?"

The following conversation was unreal. After trying to proclaim that nothing happened (and from the guilty look on his face, Blaine could see that he didn't even believe it _himself_ ), Kurt actually tried to blame Blaine for this, saying that this Chandler made him feel good. Unlike Blaine, who it appeared had become little deficient in the romance department of late.

It didn't seem to matter that Kurt wasn't actually burning up the ether himself with hot and sexy texts _—_ unless he thought Blaine had a secret fetish involving _peach-colored shoe polish!_ And don't think Blaine didn't notice that Kurt never denied liking the guy, instead retorting, "When was the last time _you_ complimented me? Or told me how special I was?"

It seemed Kurt had forgotten that promise ring he'd received at Christmas time _—_ and the heartfelt pledge that came with it. As well as the fact that last September Blaine had left Dalton Academy, the Warblers and friends he adored to come to public-school hell where gay bashing was practically a varsity sport. _Just_ so he could be with the boy he loved.

Oh, _no_. Like that old Janet Jackson song, Kurt was all about the _"What have you done for me_ lately?"

Then this hot mess of a discussion took a serious detour through Crazy Town when Blaine again heard this was all his fault _ _—_ this_ time for being the "alpha gay _"._ Whatever the hell that was. Blaine guessed it was a "straight gay man" (thank you, _Sex and the City,_ for those clairifiers) whose traditionally masculine good looks made him attractive to _both_ guys and girls. Kurt even threw the infamous drunken kiss at the Rachel Berry House Party Train Wreck Extravaganza in his face for the umpteenth time.

Then it was all how that big, mean, attention-whore Blaine made po' wittle Kurty feel all inadequate by stealing all the Glee solos _—_ this coming from the same person who had reamed out his stepbrother Finn for expressing the same thoughts earlier this year.

As for the whole thing about texting not really meaning anything...? Hadn't their relationship had already collided with _that_ particular can of worms once already? One Blaine had foolishly opened labeled "Sebastian Smythe". And it had almost cost Blaine an eye _—_ protecting _Kurt_ from what turned out to be a rock salt-laced slushie facial.

But now, Kurt was actually trying to rationalize his behavior. It was innocent and though Blaine was, for some bizarre reason, upset he insisted "it's okay!"

Blaine couldn't believe what he was hearing. "It's not right...but it's _'okay'?"_ he concluded, staring at Kurt, incredulous.

Kurt just sat there, lips stubbornly pressed together, staring at him like _he_ was the crazy one.

Blaine couldn't be there anymore.

Feeling the tears welling up, he turned and left Kurt's room as fast as he could.

He wasn't going to cry.

Surprisingly, Kurt didn't try to follow him as Blaine charged down the stairs. He paused only long enough to fumble his keys out of his pocket. He could see Finn and Sam sitting in the family room.

Finn just stared dumbly as he dashed by. Sam at least managed to rise halfway off the sofa, calling "Hey!" before Blaine was gone, slamming the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Speeding away from Lima on I-75, going a good twenty miles over the speed limit and slaloming his way through the slower moving traffic, Blaine was tormented by one thought.

_Kurt cheated._

Two words Blaine Anderson had never thought he'd utter in his life. The Kurt who got jealous if anyone _—_ male or female _—_ even looked at Blaine.. _.that_ Kurt had just had the gall to tell him what he'd just seen was innocent?

The whole drive home, Blaine ignored his phone. It tortured him by playing his Kurt ringtone: "Teenage Dream". That chance encounter on the staircase at Dalton and the performance in the senior commons seemed like it had happened a million years ago.

Getting off the interstate, Blaine drove wildly through the quiet streets of Oakwood, tires squealing as he took the turns. Finally reaching home, he left his Jag in the driveway and ran up the front walk.

Barely pausing to key in the alarm code, he shoved the front door open with a bang. He didn't care. It wasn't like there was anyone else at home these days to scold him for his behavior _._ Or to even ask him what was wrong. He stalked through the silent house and sank into the well-worn leather wing chair in the library, wrapping a decorative throw around himself.

He pulled out his phone. There were seven missed calls, six voice messages and four texts. All from the name number: _My Kurt_

He stared at the screen, stomach clenched. _My Kurt..._

Then a voice deep inside his head whispered mockingly, _Hey, shake it off, Blainey boy. "Nothing" happened. Kurt said so. All those texts with that guy, they're "okay", remember? "LOL", right?_

Grimacing, he thumbed his "My Kurt" text thread.

 _My Kurt_ _(8:19pm): Please come back._ :-(

 _My Kurt_ _(8:26pm): Why are you so mad? NOTHING HAPPENED!_

 _My Kurt _ _(8:32pm): You are being ridiculous, Blaine Anderson._

_My Kurt_ _(_ _8:39pm): How could you even THINK I would do that to you?_

Blaine chuckled mirthlessly. _And_ there _he is, ladies and gentleman. Stubborn, self-righteous Saint Kurt of Lima. Won't admit he's done anything wrong. Can't even say "I'm sorry". Oh, wait a minute, my bad _—_ he _did: _"I'm sorry that this made you upset."_

As Blaine watched the screen, another text arrived:

_My Kurt_ _(_ _9:01pm): If you want to be that way - FINE!_

 _Are you kidding me?!_ Blaine now felt the anger burning in his gut. He knew he shouldn't do what he was about to do, but he couldn't help himself. Now knowing what it was like to "see red", he jabbed a reply into the key pad on his phone, intentionally using "text-speak" because he knew how much Kurt _hated_ it _—_

 _**Me**_ _ **(**_ _ **9:02pm): kma!** _ _**& btw: ** _ _**fuck u 2 ! ! !** _

_—_ and pressed "send" before lobbing it across the room.

He was disappointed when it ricocheted off the wall and landed on the window seat, safely burying itself in the cushions.

He'd wanted to see it shatter into pieces.

Just like his heart.

He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't _—_

Too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know this isn't going to be the most popular of stories right now. I started writing this after re-watching "Dance With Somebody" with a friend. After it was over, we both turned to each other and, having one of those "simpatico" moments, said, "You know, Kurt never even said he was sorry." "I was thinking the same thing."
> 
> This work was previously posted over on FanFiction.net under my account there, UConnHusky90.


	2. Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

_Blaine stood motionless in his parents' shower, multiple jets of water blasting him from three sides._

_He was home. He'd started stripping off his clothes as soon as he'd entered the house, trying to escape the sweaty sex smell which permeated each and every garment. His briefs had gone right into the waste basket._

_He wondered how long it would take before the slimy sensation clinging to his skin would wash away. If ever. He picked up a bar of soap, fragrant suds forming as he tried to make himself feel clean again._

I cheated...

_As he moved the bar over the wet slickness of his skin, he tried to not remember Eli's hands on his body...caressing his shoulders...his chest...sliding down his stomach—_

_Nausea began to overwhelm him. The soap slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor. He leaned against the wall, gagging, trying to swallow away the sour taste building in his mouth. No good._

_He could still feel the touch of skin on skin, those hands snaking around his hips...cupping his ass...spreading his—_

_Blaine suddenly bent over, wracked by dry-heaving. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand._

I cheated...

 _He just stupidly shook his head. It had been wrong...it had_ felt _wrong...but he hadn't stopped. Hadn't had even a second thought._

Why?

 _Blaine knew the answer. He'd wanted someone who wasn't just a voice on the phone (those rare times Kurt deigned to answer at all any more). Someone who wouldn't abruptly hang up on him...who didn't sound uninterested when Blaine tried to talk about something in_ his _life..._

_He wanted someone to want him...to pay attention to him...who wouldn't take him and his love for granted...who might realize how much he was hurting...how he was slowly spiraling downward into the abyss..._

_That's why. That's why he hadn't thought of Kurt...because it was so obvious that Kurt wasn't thinking about_ him _at all._

_At least, that's what he'd thought. Before he'd..._

_He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to go away._ Oh, God.

_Now all he could think of was Kurt._

I cheated...

_He slouched there, his naked body pounded by streams of hot water...which were slowly turning warm...then cold. But even when his teeth started chattering, he didn't move to turn off the now icy spray._

_He'd never felt so alone in his life._

 

* * *

 

Blaine lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. With the anger burning in his gut competing with the ache in his heart, he couldn't fall asleep.

_Kurt cheated..._

Blaine had wanted to talk to somebody _—_ anybody _—_ last night. Someone who'd tell him everything would be all right.

He'd actually called Cooper. But had gotten no answer. As usual. He'd considered spilling his guts to his brother's voicemail, but didn't.

He thought about Jeff and Nick, his best friends at Dalton. But he wasn't in the mood for a round of _"I told you so's"._ Jeff hadn't wanted him to leave and advised him against transferring; he'd just tell him to "fuck McKinley" and come back where he belonged.

Forget the Glee kids. To them, he was sure he was nothing more than "the boyfriend". None of them had ever tried to get to know Blaine Anderson the individual; he was just the other half of "Kurt-'n-Blaine". They'd be "Team Kurt" all the way...

He'd never felt so alone in his life.

Drifting off, he vaguely registered the sky beginning to lighten outside his window _—_

 _—_ before his alarm went off.

Head pounding and bleary eyed, Blaine dragged himself out of bed. The half-hour or so of fitful sleep he'd managed hadn't improved his mood. His anger was raw and throbbing, like an open wound, blocking out his despair.

Especially after he'd padded downstairs and extracted his phone from the cushions. Swiping the screen, he saw three missed calls _._ A return call from Coop. And two from...Sam? Who'd also sent him two texts:

_Sam (9:34pm): u ok dude - lookd pissd whn u lef - thnk i kno y - call if u wnt 2_

_Sam (12:12am): hey - stll up if u wnt 2 tlk_

Sam. Who'd witnessed first-hand the messages blowing up Kurt's phone.

Nothing, of course, from Saint Kurt. Who'd probably gone right on texting back and forth with his little friend last night. Since it made him feel so _special_. In a way Blaine _didn't_ any more.

Before heading up to his bathroom, he deleted the Kurt voicemails from the previous night. He couldn't care less.

Blaine stood motionless in the shower, just letting the water blast him in the face, hoping it would clear his head. He couldn't get the memory of those texts out of his head. _("Are you lost? Because Heaven is a long way from here." Get real, jerk off!)_

 _Hey, Blainey boy...maybe they've graduated to sexting by now?_ his mind taunted. And with that pleasant thought, Blaine punched the shower wall. _Shit!_ He'd actually managed to crack one of the tiles. As well as _really_ hurt his hand.

That Kurt felt this kind of texting was innocent was a huge joke _—_ especially after the Sebastian debacle earlier this year. Blaine had endured Kurt's endless lectures on how even Blaine's innocent G-rated responses to the Dalton boy's graphic come-on's had been wrong and misleading.

(Just reading Sebastian's smutty text-series entitled "I Know What Boys Like"—and how he wanted to prove it to Blaine _—_ had sent Kurt into a sputtering tizzy where his voice went practically ultrasonic. Thank God Blaine had deleted the _pictures_...they would've given Kurt a stroke.)

But Blaine couldn't bring himself to hurt anyone. It wasn't in his nature. Even when the predatory boy had made his intentions obvious, Blaine couldn't cut him loose. He'd seen something else there...something lonely and sad behind Sebastian's swagger and bravado. He'd thought the guy just needed a friend.

Until the New Directions-Warbler face-off in that parking garage.

This guy Chandler, whoever he was, was psychotically texting Kurt, like, every _thirty seconds_ with highlights from the crummiest list of pick-up lines Blaine had ever read. How was this different from Sebastian?

Oh, yeah. Unlike Blaine with Sebastian, Kurt was flirting back.

_But that was "okay". He was SAINT KURT...who was NEVER wrong...ALWAYS misunderstood...and DIDN'T have to say "I'm sorry" to anyone!_

After sending that short-and-to-the-point text last night, Blaine had gone down to the exercise room in the basement and, while crying, angrily walloped the bag for over an hour. No good _—_ he'd needed something more substantial tp punch than just the name "Chandler". He'd spent the rest of the evening practicing the perfect Whitney Houston song. One that would not only meet Mr. Schue's stupid requirement of "letting go", but express to a certain stuck-up text-cheating boyfriend how Blaine felt as well.

 _And the funniest thing of all,_ Blaine thought to himself as he gazed into the mirror that morning, taming his unruly hair with a healthy dollop of gel _, Kurt himself had inspired the choice with his own words..._

 

* * *

 

Blaine studiously avoided Kurt all day at school. Which wasn't too hard, since it seemed that Kurt was avoiding _him_ in return. The first time he saw him was between third and fourth periods. Kurt was standing at his locker _._

Reading something on that goddamned phone.

His eyes burning, Blaine stopped and went the other direction.

The New Directions kids, so used to seeing "Kurt-'n-Blaine" joined at the hip, gave him puzzled looks all day. Which he ignored. When Mike and Tina asked him at lunch if something were wrong, he just shrugged and focused his attention on his plate of McKinley crap _du jour_. He'd probably hurt their feelings, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Arriving in the choir room early, Blaine ducked his head into the adjoining office and asked Mr. Schuester if he could be the first to perform. "Sure, Blaine, no problem," the teacher said with a smile, oblivious to both Blaine's tightly pursed lips _and_ the dark circles under the boy's usually laughing eyes.

The Glee kids gradually filed in and sat. Kurt sauntered in, looking none the worse for wear, and took a seat on the opposite end of the risers. Blaine stood and nodded to the band, who started his song's percussive intro.

"This song is dedicated to anyone who's been cheated on," he sneered at a certain indifferent someone.

As he heard Brittany utter some surreal comment about cheetahs, Blaine caught the other kids' wide-eyed reactions to his statement. As well as to the daggers he was so obviously staring at Kurt.

Kurt sat there, avoiding his gaze, arms folded over his chest. "This is insane. I didn't cheat on you."

 _What was that, Kurt? Was that an "I'm_ sorry _, Blaineykins"? No. An "I was_ wrong, _snookums"? Nuh-uh. Maybe a "Please forgive me, best-boyfriend-in-the-world-who-changed-his-whole-fucking-life-just-for-me"? Nope. Well then, Kurt Hummel, love of my life, here are two little words for you..._

_BITE ME!_

Blaine let him have it with both barrels the best way he knew how:

"Friday night, you and your boys went out to eat  
Then _they_ hung out  
But _you_ came home around three _(Yes, you did)_  
If six of y'all went out  
Then four of you were _really_ cheap  
'Cause only two of you had dinner  
I found your credit-card receipt."

Kurt was staring at him in shock, mouth literally hanging open. _Good_.

"It's not right, but it's okay  
I'm gonna make it anyway  
Pack your bags, up and leave  
Don't you _dare_ come runnin' back to me."

The other kids started to join in the chorus. They still looked startled by the intensity of Blaine's performance, the venom in his voice. All except Sam _—_ and _Rachel_. She obviously knew something about this, too. That figured.

"It's not right, but it's okay  
I'm gonna make it anyway  
Close the door behind you, leave your key  
I'd rather be _alone_ than unhappy."

The other kids were starting to catch on; Mercedes, Santana, Artie, Mike...they were casting judgmental glances in Kurt's direction.

"I'm packin' your bags so you can leave town for a week _(Yes I am)_  
The _phone_ rings, and then you look at me."

 _Hah!_ He noticed Kurt shifting uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of the word "phone".

"You said it was one of your friends  
Down on Fifty-fourth Street, boy  
So why did 'two-one-three'  
Show up on your caller ID...?"

His anger swelled as the song went on. Blaine was satisfied to see that Kurt was looking really worried. Like he'd _finally_ realized that something might actually be wrong. That maybe _he'd_ done something wrong?

That Blaine _—_ also known as "that romantically-challenged, attention-whoring big baby" _—wasn't_ just being overly sensitive.

"Was it really worth you going out like that?  
See I'm moving on  
And I refuse to turn back  
See all of this time  
I thought I had somebody down for me  
It turns out  
You were making a fool of me-e-ee! _(Yeah)"_

After one more repeat of the chorus, he was finished. Without another word, he gave Kurt the " _bitch, please"_ expression he'd learned from the master himself, spun on his heel and stormed out the choir room.

Behind him, he heard Santana chortle, "S- _nap!"_

Pissed at the world, he stalked down the nearly empty halls. No one had tried to stop him. Not one person in that room had even called after him.

 _What did you expect?_ his mind mocked.


	3. I Bow Out

_With damp curls hanging down his forehead, Blaine sat at his computer, staring at the blank screen._ _He reached for the keys with fingers still shriveled from the shower. He hesitated, not wanting to log on._

_Tonight was a scheduled Skype night._

_Like it mattered; Kurt had missed the last two._ Had to work late, _had read the first e-mail excuse he'd gotten the next morning._ Isabelle is helpless without me! Hope you didn't wait up too long.

 _The second had gone_ Was out with Rachel. Strolling down The Great White Way *sigh* and didn't notice the time. Didn't you and Sam have some silly student council thingy anyway?

 _The "silly student council thingy" had been a meeting of the Homecoming planning committee. And had been the_ _week_ before.

_He opened his e-mail file, hoping that he'd get a reprieve...that Kurt had cancelled their session for any of a thousand more important reasons._

_There were two new e-mails._

_The first was f_ _rom the office of Devon Anderson. His father's weekly itinerary, no doubt. Blaine deleted it without a second thought_ _._

_His breath hitched when he read the second._

From: My Kurt (khummel-at-voguemail-dot-org). Subject: Busy busy busy!

_He opened it and read:_

Looks like it going to be another one of those nights. Isabelle's asked me to accompany her to a meeting with - trust me, you're going to scream - MICHAEL KORS!

I could just die! After all these years of watching him on Project Runway, I can't believe it! If I can get up the courage, I'm going to ask him what was he thinking the year he and Nina voted for Wretched Gretchen over Mondo! I mean, really! That was criminal!

Raincheck? :)

_Blaine stared at the screen. Raincheck. Again. He was relieved and saddened at the same time. He couldn't face Kurt. And yet..._

_There was_ nothing _affectionate or caring in that message. At all._

_No "I miss you..."_

_No "I love you..."_

_No "I'm sorry..."_

_His guilt flared, so strong it felt like it was crushing his heart. Yeah, like he deserved any affection or caring or consideration._ _After what_ he'd _just done with Eli...could an "I'm sorry" make up for_ that?

_With tears welling, Blaine just wanted to crawl into a hole and die._

 

* * *

 

As Blaine stormed down the hallway, a sudden thought entered his head _―_ _did I just break up with Kurt?―_ and his heart broke one more time.

With tears welling, Blaine just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

He entered the library. Threading his way through the stacks, he made directly for the far corner of the room. To a lone study carrel, tucked away at the end of the aisle where the encyclopedias and other general reference books were kept. With the rise of the internet, no one went there anymore. Not even to make out.

This was Blaine's hiding place. Used when he needed to get away from the tension and drama that thrived at this school. He'd come here to lay low when Finn had treated him like crap, trying to prove to who was the "alpha male" of New Directions. And when Mercedes' issues with Rachel and the rest of Glee had torn the group asunder.

He'd found it the second day he'd been at McKinley. After the experience of being shoved against the lockers by a hulk in a letterman jacket and called "faggot" had unleashed a flood of bad memories of his life before Dalton.

He was still shaking with the emotion of his performance. He plopped down in the chair and gripped his hands tightly together on the desk in front of him.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out; anger notwithstanding, he wanted it to be Kurt.

Wrong.

It was an e-mail from his father's office: Devon Anderson's itinerary. In case his son needed to contact him. _Yeah, right._ Like he'd even answer if Blaine ever dared call.

He hadn't answered when Blaine had called to inform him he was withdrawing from Dalton. Or when, in a moment of weakness, Blaine had wanted to see if he or his mother might be in town for the opening of _West Side Story._

Or when the hospital tried to contact him regarding his son's eye injury.

Some uninformed secretary still copied him with a fresh update week after week. Probably the same one who'd been charged with making sure he got a birthday card every year. With a stilted, poorly-forged message of love from "Mom and Dad".

Ha. His father had stopped being "Dad" the night Blaine had come out. And his mother "Mom" when she'd just sat there and let him _―_

He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. "That performance was amazing, Blaine. So raw and passionate."

It was Rachel, her dark eyes brimming with sympathy. "I just wanted to say I agree with you that those texts were not as innocent as Kurt seems to feel."

_Damn right._

She put her hand atop his. "But _you_ have to understand that it was just a meaningless flirtation."

 _Meaningless...?_ Blaine whipped his hand back out from under hers as if burned.

"I can assure you that Kurt and this Chandler person have not exchanged anything beyond a handshake."

He looked at her, anger burning in his stomach. "Cheating isn't just the physical act, Rachel. Sometimes it can be a state of mind. Kurt's the original hopeless romantic. To him, the smallest gestures speak volumes...that stolen look across the room...the chance of a fleeting touch. What I found in that phone" _―_ he found himself choking up at the memory, dammit _―_ "is the equivalent of an afternoon in a cheap motel."

Placing her hand on his shoulder, Rachel gave him one of those patronizing "calm down" expressions that always had the opposite result. "Things are getting a smidge emotional here. And, as one who usually thrives on drama, I can appreciate your feelings but please listen, Blaine. He didn't cheat on you."

He was sick of this. Why was no one ever on _his_ side? His parents? His brother? Now his _friends?_ Maybe it was time to show the world that Blaine Anderson wasn't the nice-guy-pussy-doormat everyone took him for.

"I'm supposed to believe that coming from _you?"_ Blaine asked, shrugging out from under her hand. "Since when are you the poster child for fidelity?"

She stiffened. He'd scored a major hit, one she couldn't defend against. She averted her eyes and said in a hurt voice, "I...I'm going to forgive you for that because you're upset."

His boxer's instincts took over and he started pummeling her verbally. "Spare me the wounded soul act, Rachel. _I_ _know._ I know how pissed you were at Finn last year. Because he lied to you about swiping his V-card with Santana! Pray tell, Miss Berry, enlighten me how this is different than that! Oh, that's right. You two weren't even dating at that time. But what did you feel? That the thing that hurt the most was that he kept it hidden from you?"

And for once in her loquacious life, Rachel Berry seemed at a loss for words. "I..."

Blaine went in for the knock-out. "And how the first thing you did when you found out was stick your tongue down Puck's throat. Kurt told me. You cheated on Finn with the same guy that Quinn cheated with. What a class act. Do you seriously think you have any credibility right now?

"Blaine..."

"I. Don't. Care." Blaine's voice was low and dangerous, unfamiliar even to himself. "I know you're going to go back and tell Kurt everything, so tell him this. He's stubborn and selfish and I'm so _not_ sorry that he's upset by this. But isn't it funny that _I_ never get to be upset? It's always all about Kurt. Our entire relationship has become about what Kurt wants or what Kurt feels."

As he spoke, Blaine's mind was working overtime. At Dalton, he'd been a strong and confident boy _―_ one that bore little resemblance to the whiny, needy person he was now. _When the hell had that happened?_ "For whatever insane reason, Kurt wanted to leave Dalton and come back here. 'Oh, it'll be fine Blaine, you'll just have to deal with having your boyfriend leave you.' I still wonder in the back of my head if he transferred just so he could go to New York. Then he wheedled _me_ into coming here. 'I don't want to spend my senior year without you so you'll just have to leave the school you love.'" By now he was sarcastically mimicking Kurt's high register. "'But don't say I made you, because _I_ might feel bad. You did this because you wanted to, right, Blaine? To face your fears, right?'"

Rachel actually retreated a step. This wasn't nothing like the Blaine Anderson she knew.

"Ever since he came back here, he's changed. The Kurt I fell in love with would've realized how much he's hurt me with this so-called 'harmless flirtation'. This one doesn't. And doesn't seems to care. I don't know him any more." His voice broke. "And I don't know if I want to."

Leaving her with mouth hanging open, Blaine turned on his heel and marched away. He knew he'd gone too far. In her own way, Rachel had been trying to help...but he wasn't in the frame of mind to hear _anyone_ defending Kurt right now.

As he drove home, the Sirius Radio 90s station ironically played the Whitney song "I Bow Out":

 _"Tired of playing this game_  
_And I won't play it no more_  
_And I won't take it no more_  
_Through with being your fool_

 _"And I won't do it no more_  
_(And I won't) I won't keep up this act_  
_Not for one minute_  
_(I'm gonna pull) I'm gonna pull this curtain down."_

Only the rush-hour traffic kept him from speeding like the night before. Tears trickling down his cheeks, he gripped the steering wheel so hard his hands hurt. It was like the world was telling him what to do. Why couldn't he _listen?_ Why did he still love Kurt?

 _"This time I won't play this game_  
_I made a vow to make a change_  
_And I bow out_

 _"I won't be hanging around, baby_  
_I decline to take the pain_  
_And I resign the masquerade_  
_And I bow out_  
_I won't be staying around, baby_  
_I bow out..."_

He pulled into his driveway and parked under the vine-entwined pergola stretching overhead. He sat there as the song continued, wishing he could harden his heart against the pain.

 _"...When you're left standing on that stage all alone_  
_Maybe you will realize_  
_You should of learned to treat me right_

 _"And when this final act is finally through_  
_Maybe you'll wish you'd been_  
_The kind of man you should have been_  
_Now watch me say goodbye_  
_And walk right out of your life_ _..."_

Blaine couldn't listen any more. He killed the engine and let out a long shuddering breath. He wished he'd never picked up that fucking phone. He wished he'd never given away his fucking heart. He wished for a lot of things as he entered the house.

His stomach cramped when he smelled the lamb Adobo the housekeeper had prepared and left for him in the warming oven before she'd gone home. Marigold was a fantastic cook, but food was the last thing on his mind.

He trudged into the living room and crashed on the white sofa. He kicked off his shoes and lay down, folding his arms over his eyes, wanting to block out the world. Maybe he'd just go all Dickens and shut himself up in here like Miss Havisham for the rest of his life. Just "bow out", like the song said...

The front-door doorbell rang. He ignored it.

It rang again. And again.

 _What the fuck?_ Beyond annoyed, he got up to answer it, pausing to glance out the front-door side window. Though the sheers, he could make out a boy standing on his front porch holding a pizza box. _Huh?_ The guy was probably lost; not many of the houses in the neighborhood had numbers visible from the street. (Of course not many of the people that lived in these houses would order pizza.)

The delivery boy was looking down at the pizza box, the bill of the baseball cap he wore hiding his face. _Maybe if he's cute,_ I'll _"not really" cheat and then we'll be even. Maybe Saint Kurt'd like to get a video of me "harmlessly" eating pizza off this guy's abs. I'd love to see his face at_ that _one._

_Or would he even care anymore?_

The bell rang again.

Blaine angrily flung the door open. The boy started, almost dropping the pizza. He looked up and met Blaine's glare with soft green eyes and a tentative smile.

Well, he was certainly cute.

He was Sam Evans.

 

 


End file.
